


Crotch Rocket

by starhawk2005



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Het, Motorcycle Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Co-written with <b>_vicodin</b> on LJ. House decides to move on with his life. Which includes acquiring both a new babe and a new bike. And then seeing what results from using them at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crotch Rocket

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: We don’t own House. But if he’s available, we plan to petition David Shore to release him to our custody. All for the purposes of ‘research’, you understand.  
> Betas: Many thanks are due to _lot49_ and enchanted_april for their help writing the motorcycle-related parts. And for their beta services. They are awesome.  
> Author’s Notes: Spoilery for Season 2 of House. Also, we know, we know, this is AU. Because we like Triumphs better than Hondas.

Four weeks. Almost to the day. That was how long they’d been “dating,” if one could call it that. Cameron had been patient with him, it seemed, and she had to be, for he had the emotional tendencies of an eight-year-old. And it had been fun, much to his surprise, as he (cynical jackass that he was) had expected something entirely different.

In that time, he’d changed. Not personality-wise, because he still managed to make others cry at the drop of a hat. He’d tested that, too, to make sure he wasn’t losing his edge; the other day, he’d had a male clinic patient weeping in less than sixty seconds. So personality wasn’t a problem. Foreman was still bitching at him about ethics every now and then, so he supposed his methods hadn’t changed, either. And Chase…well, he just did nothing. This, again, was a characteristic of time standing still. But something had changed.

It wasn’t that. Not even Cameron could change the way he was. What _had_ changed was his walk.

That first morning, after the first date, he’d come into work with a swagger that no one had seen since before his infarction. Wilson’s eyebrows had risen past his hairline, but he’d said nothing. 

And now he sat in his office, contemplating Cameron and the meaning of life. Motorcycles, a little bit. Possibly sex. And whatever else happened to come across his mind. Medicine wasn’t one of those things. It usually wasn’t. His television wasn’t on, so he stared forward at his Shox, lost in thought.

While he was walking on the wild side, so to speak, he’d also decided to test-drive a motorcycle. He’d never bought it, and had regretted it somewhat. Now, he supposed, if he went out and bought one, Cameron would enjoy it as well as he would. The prospect of showing it to her was enticement enough, and he was seriously considering it.

“House.” 

_Not now._ The head that just appeared in his doorway was none other than that of James Wilson, boy wonder oncologist.

“Wilson.” _Go away._

He didn’t take the hint—Wilson walked into his office and flopped down in the lounge chair across from the desk, his hair, already messy, falling forward onto his face. He ignored House’s smirk as he pushed it back and sighed.

“Don’t say anything. I’m tired.”

House snorted, “Why? It’s still early.” Wilson gave him a look. “Wait. Did your wife finally decide to stop keeping up the illusion of a marriage?”

“No. I had a patient. I’ve been up all night.”

“Ah.”

“Some of us _do_ work around here. I know it’s a difficult concept to grasp for _you_.”

“Hey, I worked—”

“—past tense—”

“—and now my slaves are off looking for patients. I’ve already turned Chase down twice. Think third time might be the charm?”

“You have all three of them scavenging?”

“No. Chase and Foreman.”

“Where’s Cameron?”

House’s face, which had formerly worn a sneer, softened and got a contemplative look about it for a moment, before he looked Wilson in the eye again and said, “She’s…She’s getting me some coffee.”

Wilson narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side. He scrutinized House’s expression, trying to figure out what it was. Eventually, he got it, and held up a hand, saying “Wait a minute.” 

House looked puzzled, “Huh?”

“I know that look.”

“What look?”

“That look on your face. I know what that means.”

“Your knowledge of my facial expressions is disturbing. You’re aware of that, right?”

“I’m your friend.”

“Probably not for long, considering you’re probably going to analyze me now, aren’t you?”

Wilson gave him a rare sneer. “Your knowledge of what I’m going to do is disturbing. You’re aw—”

“Shut up.”

“But I’ll continue.”

“And I have no choice.”

“That’s right.” He smirked, “Anyway, that look on your face is characteristic of a man who’s been getting laid.”

“What—”

“ _Well_. You haven’t had that look on your face in five years.”

“Hey—”

“And…” he paused and squinted again, leaning forward. “…judging by the way your eyes are slightly glazed, I’m thinking _frequently_ , too.” 

“Shut up. I can’t suddenly have a change of mood? I thought I _was_ the moody one. Unless Chase has suddenly decided to let those feminine urges get the better of him.” Wilson appeared confused, and House rolled his eyes, “It’s the hair. I have a theory. Leave it alone.”

“I won’t even ask. But to answer your question, yes. You _can_ have a change of mood. God knows you’ve mastered the mood swing.”

“Good we’ve got that cleared—”

“But your mood changes are always for the worse.”

House looked exasperated, but managed a look of mock offense, “Jimmy, I’m hurt.”

“If your mood changes for the better, people—”

“—make pathetic attempts to analyze me and my facial expressions?”

“Close, but no. They talk.”

House rubbed his palms together in mock glee, but his face remained sarcastic. “Oh, do tell. What has the PPTH rumor mill been busy with recently?” 

“You.” 

“It’s always me.” 

“Yeah, but you and who?” asked Wilson.

“Me and what?” 

“ _Who_?”

“Who what?”

“Who is it?”

“Huh?”

“What?”

House rolled his eyes in frustration. “Wilson, just go _away_.” At the annoyed expression on his face, Wilson laughed.

“Fine. You know I’ll find out eventually, right?”

_You probably_ will _, too, you bastard_ , House thought, shrugging. That said, it was probably best to drop the news on his own, let it out under his own terms. Granted, Cameron would probably kick his ass, once she found out _how_ he’d chosen to let it spill, but he didn’t care. He’d make it up to her later.

“Don’t start neglecting me, now,” chided Wilson, grinning, “What happened to bros before hos, man?”

_There’s my window_. He snorted. “You aren’t saying that Cameron’s a ho, are you? Because I’d have to hurt you. And I thought you were rooting for her, too.”

“Uh. What? Did you say _Cameron_?”

Wilson’s eyes widened to a comical size, and his grin faded. His jaw went slack, and he just stared.

“Oops,” said House, in a voice that was entirely unapologetic, and an expression that was entirely innocent.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes, I’m serious. Why? Did you not win the bet? It was Cuddy, wasn’t it? Damn it—”

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

“You’re not excited?”

“What makes you think I’d be excited?” 

“Oh, I don’t know…maybe it’s the fact that you nearly wet your pants when I told you I was taking her out on _one_ date.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.”

House looked as if he would say something, but paused. Wilson took this as his cue to continue, and he did.

“How’d it happen?”

 

*~*~*

 

_“It’s sunny outside,” she said, “You should go for a walk.”_

_He looked down at Andie. It was sad. Sad how a nine-year-old cancer patient who would die in a year was more optimistic about life than he was._

_“I’m not much for long walks in the park.”_

_She smiled and walked away. He watched her leave, bowing his head slightly. When he turned around, he came face to face with Cameron. She was smiling, which was somewhat annoying, but if he was pushed, he might’ve admitted that he enjoyed seeing it. It was assurance that he’d done_ something _right._

_She stepped closer, glancing towards the door and the departing girl for a moment before looking at him. “Hey.”_

_He said nothing, but tilted his head to the side and studied her. He thought for a moment about Andie, Cameron, his life. About things that he’d deemed pointless after the infarction._

_“House?”_

_He knew he’d probably regret it, but he’d blame it on the fact that he was just hugged by a little girl and didn’t know right from wrong or reality from fantasy._

_“You want to go for a walk?” he asked._

__

 

*~*~*

 

“House. How’d it happen.” It wasn’t even a question anymore. 

_Even_ I _don’t know_ , he thought. They’d gone for a walk and before he knew what he was doing, he was asking her out to dinner again. _Well, a football game for_ me _first,_ then _dinner,_ he remembered. And after that walk, he’d gone and test-driven the motorcycle.

“It just did.”

Wilson looked as though he would press for more, but didn’t. His face was still one of optimistic concern, “What happened to Stacy?”

“Stacy?”

“Yeah. Weren’t you completely ‘head-over-heels-who-the-hell-is-Cameron’ in love with her? What happened to the evil plan to get her to dump the husband and run off with you?”

He shrugged, and gave Wilson a look that indicated he didn’t care, but there was a seriousness behind it. A truth. “People change.” 

“A lot, it seems.” 

“That’s interesting.”

“What?”

I would’ve thought I’d at least get a more interesting reaction out of you than a lackluster ‘oh.’ A party, maybe? Candy? I’m a sucker for chocolates.” 

“Just be careful, would you?” 

“You’re telling me to be careful, when a few weeks ago you were telling me about how a dying nine-year-old is more excited about life than I am?”

Wilson couldn’t help but smile at this, “Fine. You win.”

“See? I _do_ follow your advice sometimes. You told me to live a little, and I did. _Oh_ , have I lived.”

“I sense there’s more.”

House smirked, “You sense correctly. I test-drove a motorcycle a few weeks ago.”

“But you didn’t buy it?”

“Have you _seen_ me on a motorcycle in the last four weeks?”

“No.”

“So what does that tell you? No, I didn’t buy it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Wilson shrugged, “Maybe you should. It might be good.”

House looked contemplative for a moment. _Maybe I should_. “What if I crash? My brains will be splattered all over the—”

“That’s disgusting, thanks. You’ve nearly given me one heart attack today. I don’t need another one.” 

“Eh. If I was going to buy one now, anyway, I’d be looking for one for two people.”

Wilson seemed to brighten, and smirked slightly. “Sorry to get your hopes up, House. I like you, but…you know…not like _that_ —”

“Shut up. _You_ probably wouldn’t like the bike, anyway. You don’t like motorcycles—you told me as much. But _Cameron_ would.” House raised a lecherous eyebrow, “Think of all the—”

“ _Stop_. You’re a little too good at putting disgusting images in my head. I just found out about this, okay? If you’d like to keep me around for future advice sessions, I suggest you stop talking about that sort of thing.” 

House snorted, “I thought you’d be happy to hear about me changing my ways for the better.”

“House, you’re scaring me.”

“Huh?”

Wilson didn’t know if that ‘huh?’ was a sarcastic comment meant to annoy, but he answered it as if it were a question, “The thought of you with a woman is almost a foreign concept to me. It’s been almost six years, and you’ve ingrained into my mind the fact that you’re a heartless bastard. Excuse me if I’m a little frightened at the thought of you actually giving a crap.”

House gave a shrug. Normally, he would’ve continued the debate, but his mind was elsewhere. Specifically, on a certain black motorcycle. 

Wilson looked as though he would open his mouth again, but his pager went off. He narrowed his eyes at House.

“You are _so_ lucky, you have no idea.”

“Where are you going?”

“Patient. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Fine, see you.”

“Yeah.” 

Wilson, still looking slightly shocked and disoriented, as anyone probably would after hearing such news, exited the room, pausing once to look back at House and shake his head before leaving. 

There was probably an eye-roll in there, too, but House hadn’t acknowledged him. The conversation had brought back thoughts of the motorcycle. At the time, he’d just gone for a joyride, something to take his mind off of things. Now, he was seriously considering it. 

And he had Wilson’s pseudo-blessing (“It might be good”), so he knew he had at least one person that would back him when Cuddy started screaming about safety and recklessness and doctors setting an example. But what intrigued him to the point of smirking in an empty office was what Cameron might think. _Especially if I—_

Decision made and conspiratorial smirk firmly in place, he rose out of his chair, trying to remember where the motorbike dealer was. 

He was out of the elevator and passing by the clinic’s doors when someone grabbed his arm.

“Where are you going?”

He turned around to find Cameron, leaning halfway out of the clinic, holding onto his arm. 

“Huh?”

“You’re leaving. Where?”

“Oh. I’m leaving. Right. Got a crisis I need to deal with. Specifically, the midlife kind.”

“O…kay?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing. I just have to go see something.”

Her brow furrowed, and she looked concerned, “You okay?”

He relaxed for a moment, the expression on his face softening, losing its urgency. “I’m fine. You want to make me feel better, go round up Foreman and Chase and see if they’ve found me a patient. I’m bored.” 

She smiled, “Will do.”

“Good.” He noticed her hand still had a semi-death grip on his arm, and he took it in his own, rubbing the back of it with his thumb for a split-second before dropping it.

And he left her there, smiling but slightly confused, a blush creeping up her face. 

 

*~*~*

 

  


House stood in front of the motorcycle dealership in the exact same place he’d been weeks ago, staring at the bikes.

The one that he’d tried before—the Aprilia RSV, he recalled—wasn’t there any more. He was now examining the other sportbikes outside of the dealership, trying to figure out which one would suit him best.

“Hey, you’re the guy that was here a few weeks back, weren’t you?”

The man that had suddenly appeared beside him was the exact same motorcycle salesman as before, staring him in the face. Same ratty clothing, baggy jeans, arrogant tone of voice. House gave a sneer before turning back to face the bikes. The man did the same.

“Do you get such a small amount of business here that you remember who was here four weeks ago?” 

“I don’t get a lot of guys comin’ through here with canes,” he snapped back with a kind of friendly smirk.

House tilted his head to scrutinize the man after his comment, and deemed him worthy. 

“Yeah. I was.” 

“Which bike you drive?”

“The Aprilia. You still got it here?”

“Nah. Tough luck. Just sold it last week.

“And you have no others.”

“Last one. Snooze you lose.” 

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Got some similar ones, though, if you want to look at those.”

House turned back to look at the bikes the man was pointing out, and one in particular caught his eye.

“What about that one?”

He waved his cane at a bike that was similar in style to the Aprilia. It was jet black, with silver accents and the word ‘Daytona’ in gray on the side. It was pretty much the same as the other bike he’d tried—both sportbikes, similar build—but had two seats instead of one. 

“The Daytona? That’s a Triumph. Nice bikes.”

House made a thoughtful noise, between a grunt and a soft ‘hmph,’ as he limped closer to the bike to inspect it. He was no stranger to bikes—he’d owned one before the infarction, and knew what to look for. He knew what a good bike was and what wasn’t. _And this is,_ he thought, as he leaned forward on his cane to get a better look at the front wheel. As he did, he remembered something. 

He straightened, and waved his cane again at the salesman, who was looking slightly restless. 

“What about this?” he indicated the cane.

“I can put a set of mounts on the side there for you.”

“How long would that take?” he asked impatiently—once he decided on something, he didn’t like to wait.

“Give me twenty minutes and they’ll be on. We got some in the back.” 

House made another thoughtful noise. It had been a long while since he’d splurged on something like this for himself. _And I’d have a great time_ christening _it with Cameron,_ he thought, getting an idea for exactly how to do that, and smirking. 

“I want to test-drive it.”

“You’re licensed, right?”

House rolled his eyes impatiently, “I test drove one last time I was here. I would assume I am.” When the salesman looked at him expectantly, he answered, “Yes. I had a bike a few years ago. Got rid of it after my leg issues began, but kept the license renewed.”

Ignoring the snarky part of the comment, the man nodded. House thanked him gruffly, and handed his backpack over to him.

“Hold this, would you?” 

Twenty minutes later, he was bringing the bike back into the dealership, decision already made. But the salesman didn’t need to know that. He didn’t dismount from the bike, but instead waved the man over.

“How was it?”

“Fast. A little smaller than I’m used to, but handles well enough.”

“What’d you have before?”

“‘77 Shovel,” House replied, taking his backpack out of the man’s hands.

“Nice. High maintenance, though.”

“And temperamental. But a good bike.”

“Got a couple classics in the back, if you wanna take a look at those.”

“No, this one’s good. How much?”

“Well, with taxes, assemble and prep, you’re looking at roughly eleven grand.”

“Come on, you can do better than that. The MSRP’s, what, ten? Your invoice would come to 8,300. Add ten percent for overhead, ten for a tidy little profit, plus six for tax, and you get...10,460.” 

“The Daytona’s been a pretty popular seller. Lots of interest. Lots of demand.”

“Ten five and you can take it out the door.”

“I knew we could come to an agreement,” House gave a smug smirk, but pulled out his wallet, “You’d better take American Express. If I’m going to do this, I may as well get some decent air miles.” 

 

  
*~*~*

 

  
His euphoria over buying the bike had been short-lived. Sure, he’d brought it into work that morning, but no one had noticed, and he’d immediately been accosted by Chase with information about their newest patient. However, he still planned to appropriately introduce the Daytona to Cameron sometime during the day.

He’d come into the briefing room, and Cameron had immediately noticed the black leather jacket that he was wearing in place of his usual blazer. Handing him his coffee as she usually did, she’d remarked, “Nice jacket.” 

“Thanks.”

“Where’d you go yesterday?” 

He’d given her a slight smile before Chase and Foreman had walked in, patient files in hand and already rattling off stats, saying “I’ll show you later.”

And now, it was later. A whole work day later, to be precise. It was nearly dark at the hospital, and the four of them were in the middle of differential diagnosis session three of the day. The patient, whom House had ignored in favor of motorcycle thoughts the entire day, had a bad reaction to the meds that she’d been put on after differential number two. Chase was blathering about heart conditions. Foreman was saying something about neurological symptoms. Cameron was discrediting them both.

And House was standing next to the whiteboard, spaced out. He was impatient by nature, and the urge to show his pretty new bike to someone—specifically, Cameron—was killing him. Since it was almost time to go home, he figured now was as good a time as any. 

“House,” Foreman’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“The patient.”

“What about him?”

“Her,” Chase corrected.

“Whatever.”

Foreman rolled his eyes and continued, “She might have a tumor.”

“Did you do an MRI?”  
“Yeah.”

“After her reaction?”

“No.”

“Well, something’s changed. Do it again.”

As Foreman, Chase, and Cameron got up to leave, he added, "And a CT scan. Chase, you said it was a heart condition? Then do an EKG, and a chest x-ray, just for kicks. And whatever else you want, put it on my tab. When Cuddy starts bitching, tell her I'm being thorough for once. After you do those, you can go home. It's late."

Foreman and Chase rolled their eyes, knowing the tests would take forever to do, while Cameron just shook her head at the ‘I know everything’ look on House’s face. The two men left the room, while House looked smugly on from the whiteboard. She began to follow them out the door, but House put his cane out in front of her waist, blocking her path. 

“Ah-ah-ah. You’re comin’ with me.”

She looked from his cane to him, and cracked a smile. “Where?”

“I want to show you something.”

 

They walked out of PPTH and into the dim parking lot. Tired and a little distracted, Allison looked around for House’s ‘Vette, but didn’t see it. _I must be more tired than I thought_.

House was still limping along, like he knew exactly where he was going, so she followed him. But when he stopped next to a black and silver motorcycle, gleaming a little under the arc-sodium lighting, she hadn’t a clue as to what was going on or what he was doing.

House turned back to find Allison standing there, gaze going between him and the bike, and looking mighty confused. Grinning inwardly, he managed to remain calm and ask: “Wanna come for a ride on my ‘crotch rocket’?”

Allison wasn’t sure she’d heard him properly. “Did you just call that a _crotch_ rocket?” And since when did he own a motorcycle? Although that would explain his leather jacket…

“Well, _technically_ , it’s a Triumph Daytona 955i…but yeah, I did.” He smirked at her, waiting for a reaction.

“It’s….very cool.” Very _hot_ , she wanted to say, but he was already doing the smug chauvinistic thing, so there was no sense in feeding his ego. He’d only get even more insufferable as a result. After one month, she’d managed to learn a _few_ new skills when it came to dealing with him.

House couldn’t resist pushing her a bit. He limped up to the bike, and then slowly around it, running caressing fingertips over the tank. “Nine-hundred fifty-five cubic centimeter, liquid-cooled, inline Triple, putting out seventy-four foot-pounds of hard, fast torque. Imagine harnessing a hundred and forty-seven horses, right here, _right_ between your legs, and just letting them... _go_.” He finished off his little speech by leering at her suggestively.

Most of what he’d just said was totally lost on Allison, but she would have to have been blind _and_ stupid to have missed the innuendo. Still, she decided to play coy for the moment, ignoring his look and following him as he limped slowly around the bike. She noticed then that there were _two_ helmets sitting on the bike’s seat. _Interesting_ ….

“What’s that?” she asked, now examining the rear end of the bike. 

He saw she was looking at the grab rail. “It’s for the person ‘riding bitch’ to hang onto.” House said, managing to keep a straight face. No comment about the context within which one might ‘hang onto it’. Yet.

She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “‘Personal riding bitch’?’

Caught off-guard by her remark, he laughed. “ _No._ The passenger is referred to as ‘the bitch’. Or, in this case, as _my_ ‘bitch’.” He gave her one of his trademark smirks. “Ergo, the passenger seat is known as the ‘bitch seat’, and thus the person on it ‘rides bitch’. Although, I must admit, I like your ‘personal riding bitch’ invention. Wonder what Chase and Foreman would say if I called you that in front of them?” Another leering look.

Allison still didn’t rise to the bait. Although she was fairly certain she knew why he was acting this way. Still, she supposed five years of celibacy on his part weren’t going to be eradicated by just one month of sexual activity. Instead, she kept her focus on the bike. “So, that helps keep the ‘bitch’ from falling off. Convenient.” 

“Yep,” he said. “And so are those,” he continued, pointing out the mounts for his cane on the right-hand side of the bike. “I need _some_ place to keep my cane, after all.”

His enthusiasm was infectious. “It’s a _very_ cool bike, Greg. Although,” she added, feeling a mischievous urge, “if I didn’t know you better-” and here, she glanced pointedly at his crotch, to underscore her point, “-I’d think you were compensating for something.”

“Ah, but you _do_ know better, Allison,” he said, still leering at her. He limped over to the left-hand side of the bike, and, bracing a hand on the seat and his weight on his left leg, he leaned over it and clipped his cane into the mounts on the bike’s other side. “So,” he continued, straightening back up, “you’ve seen all the custom attachments this bike came with. Although one thing that _wasn’t_ included, however, was the ‘personal riding bitch’, as you put it. Care to fill in?” 

She raised her eyebrow at him and his continued come-ons. “ _Such_ a sweet talker.” she chided him. But she couldn’t help smiling a little. It was kind of fun, having Greg House going all sex-obsessed over her.

“Well, I need _someone_ to help me ‘christen’ this bike. I know it’s road-worthy, but I haven’t fully _tested_ it out. And you’re my girlfriend. You’re the logical choice.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because Chase is in the doghouse, and Foreman’s already taken. Why not Wilson? You don’t just have to settle for _me_ ”, she teased him.

He glared at her. “Get your ass over here.” Still with one hand on the bike, he beckoned her over with the other. When she was within range, he grabbed her arm, and then reeled her in, kissing her thoroughly, pushing his tongue deep into her mouth. She tasted faintly of coffee, and mostly of _Allison._ He thought, and not for the first time, that he was _very_ glad he’d asked her to take that walk with him, four weeks ago. “I asked _you_.” he growled, when he’d finally had enough of kissing her. “Do you want to go for a _ride_? A yes or no answer will suffice, little girl.”

Allison stifled a giggle. She loved it when he got like this. There was something undeniably sexy about him getting all rough and possessive, which was why she occasionally pushed him into acting this way…and now he was turning into this ‘dangerous’ biker-type? _So._ _Hot._ “Yes.” 

“Good.” he growled. He picked up both helmets. “Safety first, Dr. Cameron,” he told her, as he passed her the black open-face helmet with its accompanying goggles, and then pulled on the other one himself. It was a full-face version, and also black, but he left the face-shield up for the moment so he could continue to talk to Allison. And then he proceeded to get on the bike. 

Curious to see how he accomplished this with one bad leg, Allison watched him perform the operation. He stood to the left of the bike, and then shifted all his weight to his good leg. He then held on to the handlebars with his left hand, and used his right hand to lift his bad leg, swinging it around and over the back of the bike, and then settling himself into the seat. It actually didn’t look all that hard for him to pull off. _Being tall probably helps, she mused._

Once House had settled himself into the Daytona’s seat, he glanced back over his shoulder at Allison. “Coming, dear?” 

Breaking out of her reverie, Allison fumbled with the helmet, finally pulling it on and securing the strap. It was a bit of a pain to get on the passenger seat – it was damned high up – but it gave her an excuse to grab onto House’s shoulders while she climbed on and settled herself. He helped her put her feet in the appropriate spots, and then instructed her on how to be a good passenger. “You can either hold onto the grab rail behind you, or you can put your arms around my waist. But if you do the latter, that means you have to go with my movements. Meaning that if I lean, you lean _with_ me. _Capisce_?” 

“I think I have the idea.” she said, smiling. And no, she certainly wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to put her arms around him. She snuggled close to his back, breathing in the scent of his jacket, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Finally satisfied, he started the bike with a roar. The vibrations were incredible, making Allison clutch her legs involuntarily tighter around the bike. ‘ _Crotch rocket’, my ass,_ she thought. _More like the world’s biggest and noisiest vibrator. Not that I’m_ complaining _._

She noticed that House was using his right hand again, drawing his right foot up off the ground, and then using his hand to position his foot. 

“That looks awkward.” she said loudly, over the noise. He looked to be having more trouble with _this_ , than he’d actually had getting onto the bike.

“No choice, I’m afraid. Need the right foot to operate the rear brake. Some people say they can’t live without love? Well, braking’s even more important. Besides, that’s what I get for trying to buy a midlife crisis sportbike. Next time, I’ll get a cruiser.” Finally, his right foot was in position.

And then he kicked up the kickstand, popped into first, pulled the throttle, and they were off. 

 

*~*~*

Not surprisingly, he rode _fast_. Not that she minded, though. Actually, truth be told, it was a _thrill_. The passenger seat was damned uncomfortable, yes, and she’d felt pretty awkward at first, trying to follow House’s movements. Although once she stopped _trying_ and just went _with_ it, it was actually very…sensual. Everything was moving together, running in synchrony, the bike and House’s sinewy body and her own body following along…she could feel his muscles bunching and shifting as he leaned into the turns, could feel the powerful throb of the bike between her thighs. It was as though he and the bike had fused into one being, into something powerful and fast. 

The wind caressed her face with cold hands. The countryside around them swiftly deepened past dusk as they rode, the moon starting to rise and illuminating the surrounding countryside. House himself, the firm warm stretch of his back pressed tightly against her chest and belly, the scent of leather in her nose, the thrum of adrenaline throughout her body…she was not surprised to find that she was becoming aroused. And _fast_.

As they rode, she found herself comparing House-as-rider to House-on-foot. He’d always possessed an oddly athletic grace, despite the limitations of cane and limp. The same startling speed he could occasionally attain on foot, the sense of power he managed to exude despite his unkempt appearance, the strength she knew now from personal experience lay inside his ‘crippled’ body - House at one with his bike _enhanced_ all those aspects of him, multiplying them a hundredfold. And she quickly began to wonder if he was planning to stop in somewhere, and _soon_ , because she was definitely starting to have a needor two of her _own_.

Finally, after driving down a few bumpy dirt roads, they pulled over. House had already picked this spot out yesterday. Shortly after buying the bike, in fact. Secluded and wooded and well off the main roads, it was a nice little clearing with no one else around for miles. Now, if only he could convince Allison to help him ‘christen’ the bike properly…

She’d enjoyed the ride immensely, but her legs _were_ starting to tire, so Allison was glad they’d stopped. “I’m going to stretch my legs for a moment.” she said to House, and let him assist her off of the bike. She walked around a bit, noting that House had stripped off his helmet, but hadn’t yet turned the bike off. _He’s not going to take off and_ leave _me here, is he?_ a paranoid part of her brain asked. Shaking her head at herself, she took off her own helmet and goggles.

House quickly checked his bike to make sure everything was in order. The kickstand was down, bike in neutral…all set. He paused for a moment to look at her. Even in the moonlight, her eyes were sparkling, she was smiling, and her breathing was faster and deeper than usual….If anyone other than Allison had been around to make a bet with, he would’ve wagered that _her_ motor was running, too. He beckoned her back over. “Now that you’ve had the family-rated version of the ride, how about the _x-rated_ version?” he inquired.

Allison stood beside the bike, staring at him. “You’re _kidding_ , right?”

He leered at her – that seemed to be his main theme for facial expressions this evening. “Nope. C’mon, you can’t tell me that you’ve never wondered, in your deepest _darkest_ fantasies, what it would be like to ‘ride’ someone riding a bike….or even to ride a bike- _r,_ for that matter.” He threw in a suggestive eyebrow-raise, just to mix things up a bit.

“Wouldn’t that cause an accident?” she asked, stalling. Yes, the idea _was_ intriguing – and HOT - but…try explaining _that_ to the PPTH emergency room workers.

House shook his head. “Nope. We’re gonna stay right here. No way I’d risk sex on a moving bike. I’m already down one leg, no sense adding to it by wrecking another one. Or an arm. C’mon, _trust_ me. You trust me, don’t you?” He held his hand out to her, bracing both feet on the ground…the right a bit more gingerly than the left, however. 

She let him draw her forward, wondering what exactly he was planning. He made her turn until she was facing him, and then helped her guide her leg over the tank of the bike, finally carefully settling her into his lap. 

He gritted his teeth a little as her weight came down on his bad thigh, but he’d expected as much, which was why he’d taken two Vicodin before coming out here. And besides, there were quite a few pleasurable ways to distract himself from the ache.

Allison followed House’s instructions, as he got her to put her feet on the passenger pegs behind him once more, and then he pushed her until she was leaning back over the Daytona’s tank. Directly over the engine, she could feel the vibrations of the bike right through the gas tank, shivering through her clothing and into her spine. And the lower half of her was also picking up the same vibrations through House’s body, as well. She wasn’t surprised to feel her arousal shift up another notch. Leather, vibrations, heat rising from the engine and from the body of man she loved, the man who was _touching_ her…who _wouldn’t_ be aroused by that?

House reached out, cupping her cheek for a moment, and then slowly drew his hand down, letting his fingers splay over her throat for a second. Her pulse was fast, he could feel it even though the bike’s vibrations were shaking her slender frame. He let his hand linger for a moment, enjoying the softness of her skin, how _alive_ she felt under his hand.

Allison was a little worried about falling off, even with her legs braced and one of House’s arms around her, so she reached above her head, feeling for the handlebars and grabbing onto them. There, that was better. She closed her eyes and relaxed, letting the vibrations of the bike work their way into her muscles, as if the bike was a huge massaging tool. She felt House unzip her jacket, and then his hands were unbuttoning her blouse. The air was cold on her skin, making her shiver, before his warm callused hand moved to cover the exposed flesh. The cold didn’t last long, however, because there was also the sensation of heat from the bike pulsating underneath her. She shifted, tightening her thighs around House’s hips, arching her back. Going with it, just as she had earlier, when they’d been swooping around those turns at breakneck speed, and trusting House not to let her fall.

House finished unbuttoning her blouse, and then slid a hand around to her back, working it between her and the warm gas tank, finally managing to unhook her bra. He wasn’t going to strip her naked – too cold, even if there wasn’t always the risk of getting caught – he was just going to move any offending clothing out of the way. And so her bra was soon pushed up around her neck and shoulders, and his hand was stroking her, feeling how her skin vibrated under his fingers, teasing her half-erect nipples into full and aching hardness. He licked his lips, listening to her moan, watching her hands tighten on the handlebars, feeling her thighs clutch him even tighter, closer. God, she was so beautiful, her white skin gleaming pale in the moonlight, her nipples _so_ dark and tight…

He tweaked each nipple gently, and then leaned forward, taking one into his mouth. He nipped at it, listening to her cries get louder, and then sucked hard, tasting her salty skin, squeezing his arm tighter around her, holding her still as she tried to writhe against him. God, he was painfully aroused already. At the warm weight of her in his lap, at the way the bike seemed to throb in time with his own throbbing, at the aftermath of his own adrenaline rush after their ride. 

She couldn’t resist the urge to let go of the handlebars with one hand, tangling it instead into his tousled hair **,** holding him in place when he tried to pull back. He didn’t deny her, continuing to suckle andlick at her skin, to nibble _very_ gently on her swelling nipples.

But he soon realized that he’d forgotten one very important detail. Her pants had to go. _Now_. He chose to blame all the blood rushing to his second head for the fact that he hadn’t thought of it until now. He put his hand over hers, untangling her fingers from his hair, and then sat back. “Get off for a second.” he ordered her.

She shivered again – her nipples were _cold_ , where the wind was cooling the saliva he’d left on her skin – but it also felt good. She knew what he meant, but pretended ignorance. “I thought I already _was_.” 

“Haha, Dr. Cameron. Well, I suppose we could always just do what the French call _frottage_ , and just leave your pants on the whole time…” He made his pensive face. _Yeah,_ _right,_ _like he’d let_ that _happen_. No _way,_ Allison thought. He’d gotten her all worked up, and now she was _not_ going to let him ‘cut corners’. If they were risking getting caught – and even that brought its own illicit _thrill_ – theymight as well give the person that found them something to _see_. So, before you could say vasculitis five times – or so it seemed – she’d let him help her off his lap and back onto terra firma **.** Her pants and underwear soonfound themselves dangling from one of her hands, and then she was back in his lap. God, her legs were _cold_ now, but she doubted she’d be feeling the cold for long.

House grabbed for her pants and panties, stuffing them into the mini-sport saddlebags on either side of the bitch seat behind him. And then he moved his hands to her slender legs, stroking her thighs in small circular motions, working ever closer to his goal. He wished he could get his face right between her thighs, but it just wasn’t feasible **—** or safe **—** at the moment. _Later_ , he decided. But for now, he still had his hands. Feeling Allison’s eyes on him, he brought his right hand to his mouth, licking the ball of his thumb with a deliberately exaggerated motion of his tongue, and then put his hand right against the soft fuzz of her pubic hair, finding her slippery clit and caressing it firmly.

She wasn’t _quite_ ready, his touch both pleasurable and too intense, all at once, and she jumped a little, feeling his arm tighten around her once more, keeping her still, keeping her confined against his body.

“Ah-ah-ah, Allison,” he chided gently. No sense in taking any chances with a stationary bike, he reminded himself. Toppling it over onto himself – and her - was decidedly _not_ a turn-on. Reining in his impatience, House forced himself to go more slowly. He let his callused fingertips return to her thighs, tracing complex patterns on her goose-pebbled flesh, feeling her slender frame vibrating in sympathy with the low rumble of the bike. And then he let his fingers play in her sexual hair, brushing lightly through the tight dark curls. She was _very_ wet, her legs clenching rhythmically around him, and he was suddenly hard-pressed not to unzip his pants and have her right then and there. _Soon,_ he promised himself.

When House’s fingers found their way between the folds of her skin, she couldn’t help gasping a little, letting her upper body go limp against the warm tank once more, letting her head fall back. She groped again for the handlebars, trying to help House hold her steady, fighting the urge to squirm and writhe. His fingers slipped into her for a long moment, thrusting slow and steady against her walls, pausing deep within her, and she could almost swear that they were vibrating inside her, the purr of the engine beneath her forcing everything else to pulse to its tempo. She pushed herself down against him, almost cursing at him as he pulled his fingers out of her again, tracing delicately along each fold and ridge between her thighs, caressing here, flicking gently there, pressing _there_. She let go of the bike with her hands and pushed herself back up to a seated position, letting him pull her in for a deep kiss. Why not give _him_ some of his own medicine?

He grinned to himself as Allison started to fumble with the fly of his jeans, her movements made clumsy by the distraction he was providing. He broke off the kiss, brushing her hands away, and then bringing his hand to his lips and suggestively licking her juices from his fingers, holding her gaze the entire time. And then he put his hand back between her thighs, pulling her close against him with his free arm while he pushed two fingers into her this time, his thumb pressing against her clit.

Allison gave up her efforts to tease him back, clutching at his shoulders and digging her nails into the leather, focusing instead on what he was doing, on what she was feeling. The air cold on her bare skin, leather cool under her hands and arms and against her nipples, but _heat_ from the bike beneath her, from House’s skin wherever it was bared, even heat coming from his legs underneath hers, through his jeans. The purring vibrations of the bike against her buttocks, her sex. Dangerous, powerful, rough, _masculine_. And the feel of her lover’s hand, thrusting into her, slow and rough and deep. H is eyes _watching_ her as he pushed her closer and closer to the precipice, their faces so close that she could feel his breath on her face, first warm as he exhaled, and then cooling rapidly as he drew in another breath, eyes still studying her intently.

He felt her muscles pulsing around his hand, the oscillations different than those of the running motorcycle, and he pressed her even harder against himself, keeping his feet braced against the ground (ignoring his thigh’s protest) as she lost control. She didn’t usually tend to thrash around a lot when she came, but again, he didn’t relish the thought of having to pry both a bike and a babe off of himself while lying prone on the ground. With a bad leg. 

Dismissing his worries, he pressed his face into her hair, tasting its scent in the back of his throat, fingers only moving gently inside her now, feeling her shudder and finally relax, boneless and loose.

Allison breathed deeply, waiting for her muscles to start working again, her head pressed against the rough column of House’s neck. After a little time had passed, she reached a hand up, rubbing light fingertips over his throat, the stubbly underside of his jaw, and finally slowly over his cheek. She pressed her face into his chest, smelling gasoline, leather, sweat, musk, _man_ …”Your turn,” she whispered huskily, pulling back to meet his intense gaze, her voice pitched _just_ over the low rumble of the bike. 

He kept his arms around her, helping her maintain her balance as she unzipped his leather jacket, feeling himself get even harder than he already was as she pulled it open and made short work of his shirt buttons. No tee shirt underneath, for once, so there were no obstacles to her slowly stroking her fingertips over his chest and belly, to ducking her head a little and teasing _his_ nipples with her tongue. Growling in his throat, he soon grew impatient and pulled her up for another demanding kiss.

His crotch was still pressed against her, and she could _feel_ him, hard and insistent under the zipper, so she went back to her original objective, this timemaking short work of his fly and sliding her hand in to encounter…a startling lack of underwear. She couldn’t help but laugh. “I see _someone_ came prepared. Or does going commando help you ride, somehow?”

“Nope. It’ll just help _you_ ride _me_ in a little bit.” He bit off a groan as her hand wrapped around him and began to make long caressing strokes along his shaft.

“I like a man who plans ahead,” Allison purred, letting her thumb rub over the tip of him, at the top of each stroke. Her free hand floated over his chest, caressing his nipples, sliding through his chest hair. _She_ was the observer, now, enjoying the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes glazed over, the almost-inaudible rumbles coming from his throat.

_Why did I… sell… my bike… after the… infarction? Why did...I wait so…_ long _to buy…another?_ House asked himself, his normally well-ordered thoughts turned into shreds and fragments by pleasure. The vibrations of the bike were caressing his balls, the autumn wind cooling his bared chest, heat rising off the bike, his lovely riding partner’s warm hands brushing teasingly over his length…there was the problem, he realized. He could’ve bought the bike, but not the partner. _Better to…have waited…then,_ he thought.

She was beginning to move her hand faster and faster along his length, squeezing and rubbing, feeling his breath and pulse speeding up under the hand she had pressed against the center of his chest. He was even starting to gasp, his hips moving subtly against her body, and she considered for a moment just continuing, bringing him to orgasm with her hand, just as he’d done to her earlier. But then he suddenly caught her wrist, stopping her motions. And, after he fumbled in one of his pockets for a moment, his other hand appeared in front of her holding a condom packet.

“Another thing that’ll help you _ride_ me. My other head needs a _helmet_ , too, you know. Protecting one’s head is very important when you’re going _fast_.” She rolled her eyes at the innuendo, but took the packet from him and opened it, rolling it onto him carefully. She wasn’t going to say no to having him inside her.

Allison let Greg take control, let him pull her into position and guide her down onto him. She gasped at his initial invasion, letting her head fall back againat the feel of him stretching her insides, and she clutched onto his shoulders and braced her feet on the passenger pegs, trying to help him move her up and down along his shaft.

He liked to ride _fast,_ in sex and biking alike, but this was a situation that called for a little restraint. So he forced her to ride him slow and steady. He could feel everything so acutely, the pulsing of the bike beneath them and how it seemed to be coming into sync with their bodies, Allison’s nipples sliding slowly along his chest with every movement, the heat and wetness of her around his cock, heat and cold and engine fumes and female and male scents, her muscles clutching at him, her groans becoming more and more urgent, hands starting to clutch at him in desperation.

She held onto House’s shoulders, clinging to his leather jacket, the purr of the bike ever-present underneath them, trying to make him go _faster_. But he wouldn’t allow it, his hands tight on her hips, forcing her to keep at a slow, steady pace. He controlled her as perfectly as he’d controlled the bike earlier on the tight turns **,** reining her in, letting her move only a fraction of a centimeter at a time, maddeningly slow. Pressed so close against him, she could feel his chest expanding and pressing against her with his every breath, could feel the zipper on his jacket rasping coldly against one of her sides. His stubble was rough on her face and his hands gripped her hipsalmost bruisingly tight. She’d never imagined that she could come this way, at such an excruciating pace, but slowly, powerfully, she felt the sensation building in her clit and belly. The way he was filling her completely on every agonizingly slow stroke. The feeling of his rough skin against her throat as he forced her head back, kissing and gently biting the tender skin. 

Heat and coolnessand the vibrations of the bike ran through them both, lights gathering and swirling behind her closed eyes, his nearness almost dizzyingas she clung to him for dear life. She let herself experience him and the bike as the same being, as she had on the drive over here, imagining them as the same entity, something dangerous and powerful and barely tamed, something around and inside her and _claiming_ her, giving her such pleasure. She came hard, pressing herself against both her lovers, House _and_ the Daytona, her cry echoing faintly throughout the small clearing.

He felt Allison losing control again, but this time he allowed himself to join her, letting the combined feel of her muscles fluttering around him and the vibrations of the bike against his balls and thighs push him hard over the edge. He held her tightly, feeling the pleasure _rip_ its way down his spine and out through his cock, the throb in his thigh and back swept away in sensation, and he growled deep in his chest, a sound that rivaled the growl of the bike itself…and then they were leaning against each other, both relaxed and utterly spent.

House reached around Allison to the right handlebar, killing the engine, and the sudden silence was almost a shock to her system. At her questioning look, he said “What? Gas prices are through the roof these days, you know. Gotta do everything we can to conserve.” 

But she didn’t complain, and instead justpulled him into a kiss, pressing her tongue into his mouth and letting him know without words how much she’d appreciated _both_ rides, and then she laid her head against his shoulder, waiting for her body to return to normal.

They sat there for awhile, long enough for the cold air to set Allison to shivering again, so he helped her off the bike so she could get dressed. And after disposing of the condom and setting his own clothing to rights, he got off the bike, too – standing and shifting all his weight to his good leg, bracing himself against the Daytona, and then using his hand to help swing his right leg over it – so that he could walk around a bit while Allison made herself ‘decent’ again.

In the light of the bike’s headlamp, he leaned against a nearby tree, putting his arms around her as she finished dressing and came over to him. And that was when her stomach decided to make its opinion known, growling loudly enough to make them both chuckle. “C’mon,” he said, leading her back to the bike. “I think I saw a diner about ten miles back.”

 

*~*~*

The next day, predictably,  Wilson accosted him on his way in.

“What’s up?”  Wilson inquired.

“What?”

“You’re….doing that swagger thing again.”  Wilson looked faintly amused.

“It’s nothing,” House said, limping determinedly towards the elevator. “I just took my new bike on its _maiden_ voyage yesterday.” 

Jimmy didn’t look like he was convinced. “What? Don’t tell me you went out and actually _got_ that new bike, after all. **”**

House gave no answer, and  Wilson looked disappointed.

“What, no juicy details? You probably only bought it because of what I said, so I deserve details.”

_Not a chance_ . “ _No._ I cleverly _have_ no personal life, and thus no juicy details to share.” 

“C’mon, Greg.” Wilson pushed, dogging him right to the elevator.

House pushed the call button. “Don’t you have a dying patient that _wants_ you, Jimmy?” he asked snarkily.

“Not at the moment.” Wilson said, folding his arms, clearly prepared to follow House into the elevator.

“Then _find_ one. I have important _doctor stuff_ to do.” Holding his cane up between them like a wall, House held Wilson off as the elevator doors opened. He got in and pressed the button, sighing in relief as the doors closed again between the two of them.

He made it to his office without further incident, and settled in behind his desk, starting to tackle his ‘important doctor stuff’ – specifically, the next level of Metroid Prime on his Gameboy Advanced. 

Although what he was _really_ doing was replaying last night’s action in his head on an infinite loop, and waiting for his trio of Ducklings to stumble in. And thinking to himself that if he could continue to make these small steps – working at his relationship with Allison, trying to reclaim new things like riding – maybe he’d eventually come to some kind of peace with himself. Maybe.


End file.
